


The Parthian Shot

by Roehrborn



Series: The Mayor, The Chief of Staff, and The Detective [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Economics, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Multi, Politics, Polyamory, Season/Series 03, Snark, is this what dorks consider foreplay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roehrborn/pseuds/Roehrborn
Summary: Jim’s second evening with the mayor and his chief of staff begins with a discussion on the current political climate and ends underneath the sheets in the north wing’s guest room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m baaaaaack… :) I was hoping to have this posted yesterday, but the editing took longer than expected. :/
> 
> I'm working on Part 3 now. It should be longer and maybe have a bit of plot, even!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> ~R

By the time the week has passed, his... _appointment_ with the mayor and chief of staff has almost slipped from Jim’s mind. As it is, Harvey is the one who jogs his memory.

“Jim? Do you know why the penguin’s muscle is waiting out front in a limo?”

Jim startles, looking up from the case file he’d been going over. Harvey’s expression isn’t suspicious, luckily; Jim pastes on a caricature of a grin and says: “I forgot, he wanted to meet with me again about the complaints from City Hall.” He stands, shutting the file as he does so. “I’ll just… head out now.”

“Hey, Jim,” Harvey says, “don’t let him take up too much of your time. Just because he’s playing mayor doesn’t mean we have to dance for him like a bunch of trained monkeys.”

“Right,” Jim says. He decides simplicity is the best route. “Thanks, Harv.”

“No problem,” Harvey says, and disappears back into his temporary office.

Now that he’s remembered, Jim knows why he tried to forget in the first place. The whole situation feels a little like deciding to jump into the lion exhibit at the zoo. He goes out to the front, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the station around him.

“Hey, Gabe,” Jim greets the man, a little awkwardly. Gabe dips his head politely and opens the door to the limo. Jim grimaces and slides into the seat, wondering reluctantly if Gabe knows what Oswald and Ed want with him. He suppresses a sigh, dropping his face into his hands as Gabe wordlessly shuts the door. The partition is up, so the only sign they’ve left is a little jolt as the car pulls out of the parking spot. He wonders if Oswald and Ed are waiting for him; if they’ve been waiting long. If they’d taken off work early.

Jesus, he has to stop thinking about it. It’ll only make him more anxious.

He’s not certain what worries him most about the situation. He’s reasonably sure that this isn’t a long con -- for one, Oswald would have more to lose if allegations of an illicit affair came to light -- the public would be far more concerned with what their mayor gets up to in his leisure time than a sometimes-celebrated, sometimes-vilified police officer.

Anyway, could they even use it for blackmail? Jim would be mortified, but not enough to do something against his moral code. Everyone at the station would be equal parts shocked and horrified, of course, but it isn’t like he would lose his job or his life. All he stands to lose is respect, and he's had to build that back up more than once in his life. It wouldn't be nearly as difficult as it has been before; for every person that remembers Ed as a murderer and Oswald as a gangster, there are nine who think of them as upstanding citizens.

Blackmail is out. And murder; peri-coital homicide _really_ doesn’t seem Oswald’s style, though frankly Jim wouldn’t put it past Edward. Anyway, there are much easier ways to kill him.

So what is it that scares him so much about this?

Maybe it’s how _human_ they look, despite the fact that he knows they are both cold-blooded murderers. Maybe it’s because he _still_ doesn’t understand why he’s an exception for either of them. Why he’s the one they’d like to spare, like to drag into their odd little game of give and take.

Usually, for Jim, it’s straightforward. He meets a beautiful woman, and they make it work or they don’t. (Usually they don’t.) With Edward and Oswald, he knows it’ll always be a struggle; he’s not sure either of them is even _capable_ of being entirely genuine in their affectations.

In conclusion, Jim thinks as the limo pulls up in front of the mansion, this is a very, very bad idea. This is a horrible idea, and yet he’s already climbing out of the car, his shoes digging into the gravel with a quiet little scritch of grinding rocks. Gabe stands awkwardly at the driver’s door, obviously unused to passengers who climb out on their own. Jim gives him an expression halfway between a smile and a grimace. He gestures to the front door with his thumb. “They in?” he asks, voice gravelly. He clears his throat.

“Yeah,” Gabe says. They eye each other uncertainly for a moment.

“...Alright. Thanks,” Jim says, and walks up the drive to the stately set of doors.

An older woman, dressed as a maid, greets him at the door. “Hi,” Jim says, voice uncertain.

“Yes,” she says, in heavily accented English, and steps aside to allow him to enter.

“Thanks,” Jim says. She looks at him mostly blankly.

He’s only taken about three steps inside when Ed appears at the end of the entranceway, looking mildly hassled. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a dark suit that’s obviously been tailored to fit his lanky frame. Jim can say one thing certainly: his sense of fashion these days is vastly evolved. Not that Jim has an eye for such things himself.

“Jim!” Ed says. “You’re here! Excellent. Are you hungry? We were about to take our dinner.”

The woman bustles by him, muttering something in her native language under her breath. A brief glower crosses Ed’s expression, then his face clears. “I believe we’re having foie gras?” Ed adds, voice uncertain. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually take note of ingredients, but do you have any dietary--”

“Nope, sounds fine,” Jim interjects, “thank you.” Not like he’s ever had foie gras. He doesn’t have any food allergies, though, and he has a feeling that if he doesn’t stop Ed now he’ll end up researching the countries of origin of each of the ingredients to determine if there may be trace elements of _something_ dangerous.

“Okie dokie,” Ed says. “This way then.” He turns on his heel and disappears to the right.

_Okie dokie indeed_ , Jim thinks grimly. The time for bolstering himself is past. He follows Ed down the hallway.

What he finds is an elegantly laid table, set for three. The room itself has a stately and Gothic feel, notable even by Gotham’s standards. The table is huge, dominating the room, but the chairs are close together, one at the head and one posed on either flank. Jim takes a guess that the head seat is Oswald’s; despite his frequently unassuming mien, Jim is very well aware of his attachment to his position of authority.

Speaking of the devil -- an apt phrase in more ways than one -- Oswald appears at the doorway. His hair is coiffed in that neo-Gothic fashion, and his tailored suit is fitted perfectly to his figure, as always. In their presence, Jim feels underdressed; but he’d experienced that often enough at the functions Barbara had dragged him to. It hardly even makes him feel self-conscious anymore.

“Jim!” Oswald says brightly. “You made it!”

“Here I am,” Jim says, somewhat uncertainly.

“Are you still wearing -- Ed!” Oswald says, voice reproachful. “Did you offer to take his coat?”

“Ah,” Ed says, taking a stilted step toward Jim. “I apologize, Jim, I meant to ask you before.”

“You forgot?” Oswald says, and he sounds genuinely startled. As Jim watches, a little frown crosses Ed’s face.

“It’s fine,” Jim says. Ed stares at him, disproportionately distraught. “Really,” he directs to Oswald, who looks equally distressed. “Frankly, this is one of the least worst things either of you has done to me,” he finishes. For one heart-stopping moment, they both stare at him, slightly appalled.

Then a bright grin crosses Ed’s face. “Well, that’s certainly true.”

Oswald huffs a sigh. “Jim, I still believe you have a somewhat _biased_ view of our history. Be that as it may, may I take your coat?”

“Sure, Oswald,” Jim says, smiling with both amusement and relief.

“Excellent. Olga!” he calls, startling Jim.

The woman from the entranceway reappears, looking disgruntled at being called so abruptly. “Yes?” she asks.

“Can you take Jim’s coat?” Oswald says. She looks at him. “Jim’s _coat_? Whoever your English tutor is, I’m overpaying them. Fine,” Oswald says, flapping a hand to dismiss her. “Go on then.” He takes a few steps toward Jim, and Jim quickly slips his coat off of his shoulders. Oswald holds out his arm, and Jim drapes his coat across it.

As Oswald leaves, Ed pulls out one of the chairs. “Have a seat,” he says, voice a little too demanding to be polite. Jim does so, very grateful that Ed doesn't try to push the chair in for him. Jim's quite sure he wouldn't succeed.

Ed takes the seat across from him, and when Oswald appears again at the door, he predictably takes the seat at the head of the table. “How was your day, Jim?” he asks then, and Jim is struck with a strange sense of surreality. It seems more like something from out of a sitcom than dinner with your reluctant ally cum … lover.

“Fine,” he says finally.

“Is the vandal who defaced the library still unidentified?” Ed asks, and Jim blinks in surprise.

“Yeah,” he says. “We've got Lucius working on the source of the paint--”

Ed snorts.

“He's very good,” Jim says defensively.

“Oh,” Ed grins. “He is.” Jim waits, knowing that can’t be the end of it. After a moment, Ed continues: “But he's not the best.”

Jim huffs out a laugh. “Let me guess. That’s you?”

Ed sets his elbows on the table and leans in. “The job was outsourced; even if you find the boy who did it, you won't find the masterminds behind the scheme.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Oswald scoffs. “We haven't stooped to pointless vandalism, Jim. We have much more important concerns.”

Ed smiles at Jim. “In fact, it would benefit us greatly if you were to arrest the culprits. Not that there's much point; they'd be out soon enough on bail.”

Olga reappears in the doorway, carrying a tray with salads. The table falls silent as she bustles by, setting one at each of their places. “Thank you, Olga,” Oswald mutters quietly, and she disappears back to, Jim presumes, the kitchen.

“And why would it benefit you?” Jim asks, eying the salad uncertainly. Are those… figs? He takes a tentative bite.

“It's a faction,” Ed says. “All aboveboard, of course, but they hate Oswald and want to see him ousted. Now that the threat of monsters is gone, the foundation of his mayorship has mostly been based upon the availability of public services.”

“The van Dahl fortune does a good deal for that,” Oswald interjects, gesturing to the opulent room around them. “We're able to host fundraisers, and donate anonymously when funds are insufficient. It gives the illusion that the city economy is on the up.”

“But… it is, though, isn't it?” Jim says, frowning. “There are new businesses opening all along main street, and we’ve had a significant decrease in petty crime.” Most at the station are unwilling to attribute it to the actions of Oswald and Ed but no one can deny that petty crime, food theft and the like, has been on a steady downward trend since he took office. _Organized_ crime, of course, is another matter entirely.

“Well, yes,” Oswald says. “But that is, for the most part, because we already convinced everyone it was.”

“Consumer confidence is up,” Ed explains. “People believe that the economy is doing well, ergo it is. And, of course, we did buy out the Orsons’ share of the Gotham Sun; people believe whatever they read in the newspaper these days.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jim says. “You've been _deceiving_ the populace into believing the economy is improving, therefore the economy is improving?”

Oswald nods. “Yes, thereby securing my position as mayor.”

“Right,” Jim says, bewildered. “So this faction…”

“They want to give the impression that gang violence is increasing, that idleness is causing youths to act out, et cetera,” Ed explains. “Vandalism is key. Showy, obnoxious, yet not actually violent, so the City officials can still sleep at night.”

“Hmm,” Jim says. It makes some amount of sense. He'll have to bring up that point to Lucius. He's not sure how he'll do it without sounding suspicious, but he'll think of something.

Olga reappears at the door, carrying with her what Jim can only assume is foie gras. Jim feels a little unprepared to try eating the blobby yellowish-pink meat, but reassures himself that street vendor hot dogs are probably technically made of far more disgusting ingredients. She puts a plate before each of them, and silence falls once again as they each begin to eat.

It’s … not bad, Jim thinks. Not bad, but not exactly good either. He takes another small bite.

The silence should be awkward, he thinks, but for some reason it’s not. It feels...anticipatory, though, full of quiet potential. He takes a sip of water from his glass.

Only a few more moments pass before Oswald clears his throat. “I find that I’m honestly not very hungry tonight. Perhaps…” he trails off, eyes flicking uncertainly to Ed’s and then Jim’s. “Perhaps we might…”

Jim sets down his fork. “Yes,” he says quickly.

Oswald smirks and stands, Ed rising to his feet half a second later.

Ed leads the way, sure steps carrying them down the hallway and up a stairwell before arriving at a doorway. Ed flings it open, ushering Oswald and Jim inside ahead of him. He shuts it a little too rapidly, the _bang_ of the door hitting the frame a little too loud in the quiet of the house. Oswald seems unaffected by the noise, turning instead to Jim and eagerly yanking his tie from around his neck, nearly strangling him in the process.

Oswald doesn’t apologize for his haste, only smirking at Jim’s spluttered complaint. Then Ed’s there, undoing Jim’s suit jacket and pulling it off of him, and Jim realizes with an odd little twinge that they’re working together to strip him first. It’s gratifying, and a little nerve-wracking, and he submits to their attentions with a rapidly-beating heart.

By the time they have him down to his boxers he’s relaxed to their hands, less self-conscious about the vague possessiveness with which they handle his clothes and him. Oswald presses a kiss against his collarbone as Ed pulls off his boxers, and Jim nearly winces at the feel of cool air against his straining erection. Oswald smirks against his collarbone, and together the two of them maneuver him to the bed and onto his back.

Jim lays back on the bed, doing his best to ignore the desperate heat of his cock, and watches as Oswald reaches out to loosen Edward’s tie, freeing it from his neck and flinging it onto the bedside table. Ed smiles down at him, fondly, and rests his hands on Oswald’s hips.

Jim reaches out from the bed, wrapping his hand around Oswald’s forearm. Oswald looks down at him, almost startled, and a broad smile crosses his face as he sees Jim looking up at him. Jim gives a little tug, drawing Oswald toward the bed, and Oswald smirks a little before pulling away. He yanks off his gloves, one by one, and then Ed’s hands are on him.

They strip quickly, efficiently, used to helping each other out of their many layers. Jim watches, feeling oddly voyeuristic in the moment: this is a glimpse into the life they share together, the familiarity they have with each other’s bodies.

Then they’re all naked, and Oswald leaves Ed standing at the side of the bed as he climbs onto it on all fours.

Oswald straddles Jim’s lap and looks down at him, quirking his lips into a smile. “Hello,” Oswald says softly. He rests his palms on the mattress on either side of Jim’s waist and leans down, pressing a brief but intense kiss to his lips. Jim catches himself trying to follow Oswald’s lips as he pulls back, and Jim falls back onto the bed, trying to hold back a light blush.

The mattress dips, and Ed climbs up behind Oswald. He moves forward until he’s pressed flush against Oswald’s back, arms wrapping around Oswald’s waist. Ed rests his chin on the top of Oswald’s head, and Oswald smiles as he reaches back with one hand to wrap around Ed’s neck. Together they shift until Oswald’s thighs are resting on top of Ed’s, Ed’s strength holding them up in Jim’s lap.

“Okay?” Ed breathes into Oswald’s hair. Oswald nods rapidly, and Jim watches as Ed’s right hand moves down to grasp Jim’s cock.

Jim hisses and his body tries to arch upward, but the combined weight of Ed and Oswald keeps his hips pinned to the mattress. Ed’s hand is slick already, and Jim has no idea when he got lube but can’t bring himself to care at the slow, firm strokes of his hand. Then Ed shuffles forward, pushing Oswald with him, and Jim lets out a helpless groan as he feels the wet heat of Oswald’s opening against his cock.

Oswald leans back against Ed, letting out a breathy little hiss of his own as Ed’s hands deftly line them up. With a smirk that’s far too self-aware, Ed rises a little, pulling Oswald with him, and then sinks down, impaling Oswald on Jim’s cock.

The breath escapes from Jim in a sudden whoosh. He’s left staring up at the pair of them, eyes wide and heart racing heavily in his chest. The noise Oswald makes is unreal -- a high pitched whine escaping between clenched teeth. His eyes are squeezed shut, expression almost pained with ecstasy. Jim reaches out, unthinkingly, and rests his palm on Oswald’s thigh, squeezing him hard enough to bruise.

Oswald lets out a little hiccuping noise, not quite a sob, and his grip on Ed’s neck tightens. Ed hisses and shifts his head against Oswald’s shoulder, opening his mouth against the skin and biting down gently. Oswald’s hips jerk, and Jim can see Ed’s lips widen slightly in a grin.

Ed sets the pace -- he controls Oswald’s movements and Jim’s currently pinned to the mattress. It’s a different kind of torture than he’s used to, different than he’d imagined with them. Ed moves slowly, keeping the movements long and steady, and each rise and fall sends cascades of pleasure up and down Jim’s spine.

But _god_ does he want to fuck into that tight heat, flip the pair of them over and thrust until the pleasure sends him over the edge. He reaches up and grabs the headboard with his free hand, desperate to hold onto something, trying to use it as leverage to push deeper inside Oswald. But Ed only rises higher with a too-pleased smirk, keeping them just on this side of epiphany.

Oswald grows impatient, squirming in Ed’s grip and tilting his head up to meet Ed’s eyes. Oswald’s pale eyes glimmer with unshed tears, and a cascade of words escape his lips: “Ed, my darling, my dearest, please, Eddie, please,” and Ed finally deigns to reach around and grip Oswald’s erection in his hand. He strokes Oswald at an equally slow pace, until finally, Oswald snarls and bares his teeth and wriggles until Ed’s grip slackens.

Oswald lets out a wail and shoves himself down onto Jim’s cock, pushing him deeper inside than ever, and his mouth immediately opens into a shocked “O”, back arching and head thrown back onto Ed’s shoulder.

Jim watches the come spurt from Oswald’s cock into Ed’s hand, watches Ed’s eyes darken possessively, as the hand around Oswald’s waist rises up his chest to rest just above his collarbone, wrapping gently around the base of Oswald’s pale throat, and Jim comes, harder than he can ever remember, one hand gripping Oswald’s thigh and the other hanging onto the headboard for dear life.

When the buzzing in his ears has faded and his eyes have cleared, Oswald is leaning back against Ed bonelessly, breathing heavy and labored. Ed is still coiled tight around Oswald, muscles taut and eyes sharp. As Jim watches, Ed presses himself against Oswald and squeezes his eyes shut. “Oswald,” he mutters into Oswald’s ear, and Oswald’s eyes finally flicker open.

“You were being quite devilish earlier, my dear,” Oswald chides, smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps I’m in no mood to play nice.”

“ _Oswald_ ,” Ed says insistently, opening his dark eyes and staring into Oswald’s. Jim can’t read the expression, but Oswald smiles fondly and rises off of Jim to lay down beside him. Ed, alone now in Jim’s lap, is still rock-hard and flushed bright red.

“Well?” Oswald asks.

“I can--” Jim finds himself saying, and both pairs of eyes fall upon him. He finds words failing him, and instead sits up, resting his hands on Ed’s sharp hipbones.

This close, Ed’s face is disconcertingly disarmed, eyes dark and wide and seemingly guileless. Jim has to consciously tear his gaze away, uncomfortable with the implied intimacy -- _implied?_ his mind screams, _you’re about to get him off!_ He pushes Ed gently, rolling him onto his side and evidently bringing his head to rest on Oswald’s chest. Agreeably, Oswald grasps Ed’s head in his hands, digging his fingers into Ed’s hair. Jim reaches down and grasps Ed’s erection, stroking it once before leaning down and pressing an open-mouthed kiss against Ed’s hipbone.

“Do you--” Ed blurts out, but when Jim glances up at him, he falls suddenly silent. He stares down at Jim, eyes wide, mouth slightly open with shock.

As Jim watches, Oswald hides a fond smile by pressing his lips to the top of Ed’s head. Jim smiles at Ed. “Do you think I’ve never sucked a cock before?”

Oswald muffles his laugh into Ed’s hair, and a petulant expression crosses Ed’s face. “I meant--” he begins, aggrieved, but Jim takes the opportunity to do something he’s not sure many people can accomplish: to shut Ed up by wrapping his lips around his cock.

It’s a pity that Ed’s so close; it takes Jim only a few minutes of stroking the flat of his tongue against Ed’s erection before Ed’s hips jerk erratically, pushing his cock deeper down Jim’s throat than he was prepared for. Jim pushes down on Ed’s hips but it’s too late anyway; Ed’s come floods Jim’s mouth and he swallows quickly, trying to get rid of the taste.

Ed falls back against Oswald, finally, breath ragged. Jim rises up onto his haunches and stares down at the two of them. Oswald has wrapped his arm around Ed’s chest, holding him in a loose embrace, his cheek resting on Ed’s slicked-back hair. Jim smiles quietly to himself as he falls back onto the mattress on his back.

He’s not sure where they go from here, but the journey was damn pleasant, Jim considers. He sighs, shifting on the bed into a more comfortable position.

Before the contented silence drags on too long, Oswald speaks, voice quiet and a little nervous again. “Jim, on the subject of charities--”

“That part of the conversation ended a while ago,” Jim points out. He feels the mattress shiver as someone -- Ed, he’d assume -- fidgets. “But go ahead.”

“I’d -- well, we’d both -- like you to attend the benefit with us next week.”

Jim frowns, wracking his brain. Which was… oh, right. “The one for the orphanage?”

“That’s right,” Oswald says, and Jim just knows he’s preening at the fact that Jim had recognized it. “The proceeds go to the remodeling. It’s for a good cause, Jim.”

Jim blinks his eyes open and glances over at the pair of them, still sprawled against each other. “That’s not exactly my crowd,” Jim hedges.

Ed flaps his hand, unconcerned. “I would’ve said the same about myself, a few months ago. It’s really not that difficult, so long as you’re dressed well and can laugh politely at whatever banal joke the district judge has stolen from his eight-year-old son’s take-home report.”

Jim blinks. “What?”

“Ed gets a little testy when people tell bad jokes,” Oswald explains. “It offends his sensibilities. I trust his judgement on the subject, of course,” he hastens to add.

“Right,” Jim says. “Was there some reason you wanted me to come? Have you -- there haven’t been any threats, have there?” he asks, the sudden thought sending a shock coursing through his system.

“No, no,” Oswald says. “Certainly not, Jim, and if there were, we know that you know that we could handle it ourselves.”

“You _shouldn’t_ ,” Jim points out. “You _should_ come to the police.”

Oswald ignores him civilly. “We’d like you to come _with_ us.”

Jim’s heart does something that can’t possibly be healthy. “What, publicly?”

Oswald’s gaze drops, landing somewhere around Jim’s collarbones. Ed rolls his head to the side, obscuring his face from Jim’s view. The silence drags on, and Jim lets out a beleaguered sigh before saying: “Look, it’s not that I -- it’s not that you -- I just don’t think it’s _wise_ ,” he finishes, not sure if he’s telling the truth.

“Of course,” Oswald says, voice suspiciously flat.

Ed doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sor--”

“No, Jim, of course,” Oswald rushes to say. The mattress shifts and suddenly Oswald’s rising to his feet in a flurry of motion. Jim pushes himself up onto his forearms, brow creased as he watches Oswald pick up discarded pieces of clothing from the floor. The mattress rises again and Jim sees Ed standing as well, imitating Oswald’s movements. Ed’s face is blank, and Oswald’s is a blurred by the haste of his movement, but Jim has a grim feeling that this was a major misstep.

But what the hell was Oswald thinking, throwing it at him like that? They hadn’t discussed anything like this before. What was Jim supposed to say in response to something like that?

Oswald departs the room with customary decisiveness, silent and wrathful. Before Ed follows him, he has to step back close to the bed to pick up his tie. When he does, Jim reaches out to grasp his forearm.

Ed looks up at him, face impassive. But his eyes tell a different story: they’re blazing with intense emotion, and Jim has a sinking feeling that it might be rage. It’s not that he’s _afraid_ of Ed; he’s reasonably cautious of him, but not _afraid_. Jim still doesn’t like to see antipathy on Ed’s face, for reasons that are slowly becoming more apparent to him.

“I need -- time,” he bites out, staring into Ed’s eyes, willing him to understand. “I haven’t had time to think about this.”

Ed stares back at him, face unmoving but contemplative. As Jim watches, he slowly reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and retrieves a little RSVP card, not unlike the one Oswald had given to Jim nearly two years ago. “This is the invitation,” Ed says, unnecessarily. “I’m sure Oswald would love to see you there. But that’s all the more time you’re going to _get_. You’ll need your answer ready.”

Jim nods.

Ed holds the invitation aloft, looking down at Jim with narrowed eyes. “Neither of us have the time nor patience for games, Jim. We are, after all, very _busy_ men.” He holds the invitation out to Jim, who releases Ed’s arm to take it. “You’re welcome to stay the night, but I suggest you be gone before breakfast, which is held at 7:30. I suppose we’ll see you there,” he tilts his head to the invitation, “or not. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ed,” Jim says.

Ed walks from the room with quick strides, and flips the lightswitch as he leaves.

Jim sits alone in the dark room, and thinks.


End file.
